


Where Are My Dragons?

by KathrynAKelly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Magic, Blood Oaths, Childhood Trauma, Dark Magic, Miscarriage, Multi, Murder, Parseltongue, Power Struggle, Torture, Triwizard Tournament, Valyrian, high expectations, loving Malfoy family, overprotective sibling, sort of but not really cross over with Game of Thrones, you definitely don't need to know anything about GoT to read this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-27 11:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17766119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathrynAKelly/pseuds/KathrynAKelly
Summary: Draco Malfoy has an overprotective older sister who is exactly like her father. She takes her responsibilities very seriously, and will stop at nothing to save her family.





	1. 5 June 1980

**Author's Note:**

> Things you should know before beginning this story:  
> 1\. A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones is the history of the Wizarding world pre-wizard-muggle-separation, pre-Hogwarts, pre-wandmaking. It is ancient history, mostly lost (even more so than legends of Merlin). It's preserved primarily through children's story books.  
> 2\. The Malfoy family descends from the Targaryen line.  
> 3\. Blood-family can speak Valyrian.  
> 4\. Valyrian is to dragons what Parseltongue is to snakes.

“Uncle Rabastan, when are they coming back?” the almost-four-year-old curiously asked, looking excitedly out the bay windows.

“After dinner, Lysa, and they’ve got a surprise for you.” Rabastan Lestrange, a young and handsome wizard with dark features, teased.

“It’s not a surprise! I know they went to the healer. I’m gonna be a big sister!”

“I’m going to be, not gonna.”

“Fine, going to be, then.” She wriggled in her seat, watching the afternoon rain pitter-patter across the expansive estate yard and splash up against the cold class window. “I don’t want to wait that long. I want them here now. I want to see my baby brother!”

“I know you do,” Rabastan picked the child up and flung her over his shoulder, “let’s get you dressed. You want to make a good first impression, don’t you?”

Lysagora giggled and squealed when her uncle started tickling her, “Okay, okay! Stop it! Dobby! Make him stop!” A pop from the hallway indicated the presence of the house-elf, a sorry looking thing with long ears and bulging eyes. It held the study’s door open as Rabastan carried his niece upstairs.

The wizard curled his lip at the sight of Dobby’s filthy pillow-case uniform, “Get that thing washed, nasty creature, light the fires and start dinner, your Master will be home in mere hours.”

“Yes, Master Lestrange, sir,” the house-elf simpered miserably, “right away, sir.”

Rabastan carried his little niece up winding staircases and through long, dark hallways lined with family portraits. His heels clicked on the marble floor. In the east wing, he set the girl down. “Pick out a dress for dinner and I’ll read you a story.”

Lysagora’s steel-blue eyes lit up with joy, “The one about Daenerys and the dragons?”

“Is that your favourite? You always ask for it.”

“Mhmm, Father says I’m __going to__ grow up and be just like her. The numerligist said so.”

“Numerologist.”

“Numerologist.”

“So you’re going to conquer the world with an army of dragons, little Lysa?”

“Yes. It’ll all be mine! The whole world!” She bounced on her feet excitedly, throwing her arms out wide, and at this moment Rabastan went in for the attack. He scooped her up and tickled her tummy while she squealed and laughed.

“All right then, my little dragon queen, go pick a dress.”

“You have to put me down first!” As quickly as her uncle let her down, she tore off through the doors of her bedroom and straight to her wardrobe, flinging the doors wide. She pushed blouses, trousers, and skirts aside and pulled down an armload of frilly dresses, then another, and a third still. She piled the dresses on top of one another and carried as many as her tiny arms hold, and she was proud to say she didn’t drop a single dress. One by one, she went through them all: velvet, silk, wool, black, red, yellow, lace, ribbon, button, zip…. Rabastan sat patiently through it all, waiting on the settee for her decision. “Do you think he’d like this one?” Lysagora held up a light blue dress with white owl feathers printed all over it.

“Who?”

Lysagora pouted, “My baby brother!”

“I’m sure he’ll like whatever you decide, Lysa; you’re his big sister after all.” Rabastan tucked a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear, “Now get changed. I’ll wait for you in the library.”

“Okay.”

Within minutes Lysagora had changed into her dinner dress, though she struggled with the bow in the back. Uncle Rabastan had chuckled at her before pulling out his wand and fixing it up proper. In the Malfoy family library, the two sat in a deep black leather armchair before a low, crackling fire. It was summer, but the manor had always been draughty and the afternoon rain certainly hadn’t made anything warmer.

Lysagora sat squirming in her uncle’s lap, and Rabastan held a colourful hard-back book in front of her. “Long ago, in the age of ancient magick, there was a mighty king named Aegon of Valyria. His home was called Dragonstone, and all of his blood had one very special talent. They spoke Valyrian, the dragon-tongue.” As he spoke, he ran his fingers over the words on the pages, letting Lysagora follow along and take in the pictures - shimmering sea and landscapes, ancient castles, and soaring dragons. He let her turn the pages, and she did so with all the reverence an almost-four-year-old could manage. For more than an hour Rabastan’s low timbre filled the space around them until a house-elf appeared to announce dinner.

“But this is the best part!”

“Dinner time is dinner time, Lysa. It’s very important to keep schedule.” The dark-haired wizard nudged the girl off his lap, stood, and stretched. He placed a bookmark with the Malfoy crest inside the book and set it down on the chair. “We can continue another time.” He took the child’s hand and walked with her through the lofty halls to a dining room. It was the smaller of the two, as the large dining room was reserved for parties and important company, but in true Malfoy fashion, it did not lack in finery, and one would be hard-pressed to find a more perfectly set table.

“What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Pot-au-feu de cheval, Master Lestrange, sir.” A quivering house-elf replied in it’s squeaky, high-pitched voice.

“Lysa?”

“Horse stew!”

“Very good, you’ve been practising.”

An hour passed. Then two. It was bedtime and Lysagora’s parents had still not returned. They were late, and this did not make her happy. Rabastan Lestrange had tried everything he could think of to get the child to cooperate. He’d bribed her with promises of stories and songs and treats in the morning; he’d threatened to set a burning hex upon her bottom, then an stinging hex, then both together; he’d begged her to please just stay in bed, and even promised to wake her up as soon as her parents arrived.

In turn, the child had yelled, screamed, kicked, cried, and behaved as any typical young child not wanting to be put to bed.

Rabastan, exasperated, ran a hand through his dark hair and called, “Elf!” A pop in the hallway followed. The small creature approached cautiously, after all, an irate wizard was a dangerous wizard. “Do something about her.” Rabastan snapped.

The house-elf looked at its little mistress. It levitated the girl onto her bed while she wailed, “Don’t wanna!” repeatedly.

“Young miss is not behaving like a Malfoy. What would Master Malfoy say?” Almost immediately, Lysagora stopped her tantrum. She pouted instead, sticking out her bottom lip and sniffling pathetically. The elf used its magic to pull up the covers around Lysagora.

“They’re late.”

“Mopsy will wake little miss when Master and Mistress return.”

“You better, or you’ll be in trouble.” The young girl teased. Mopsy the house-elf shook where it stood and quickly popped away.

“Good night, Lysa.” Rabastan whispered, kissing her forehead.

“Night, Uncle Rabastan.” She stifled a yawn while Rabastan smirked.

It was nearly ten o’clock and nearly all the fires were extinguished save the candelabras in the hallways when the Lord and Lady of the house finally arrived. Rabastan had been reading when he heard the door open and rushed to greet Lucius, Narcissa, and his new baby nephew. Narcissa was cradling a bundle of smoke-grey velvet, while her husband led her into the manor.

“Sorry we’re late, Rabastan. Draco decided to make a fashionably late entrance.”

“Lysa’s not happy.”

“Is she sleeping?” Narcissa asked.

“Yes, I put her to bed a while a ago.” Rabastan took the witch by her arm, “The fire’s still going in the living room; let’s have you sit. You must be exhausted.”

Lucius tapped his cane against the marble floor. __Pop.__ “Bring my daughter to me.” __Pop.__ The adults sat, safe and warm on the leather sofa by the fire, waiting for Lysagora, and despite the immense size of the manor, it took the little girl a record two minutes to run, flying down the stairs, from her bedroom to her parents.

She positively bounced with energy, “Mother! Father!” She jumped into Lucius’ open arms, “Is that him? Is that Draco?” She questioned, looking pointedly at the small figure on her mother’s lap.

“Yes, darling, say hello to your baby brother.”

Lysagora peered at the pale pink face nestled in the velvet cloth. “He’s so tiny!”

“He’s perfect,” Her mother said gently, “just like you.” Lysagora smiled brightly.

“Can I hold him?”

“Of course, darling, sit up here.” Narcissa patted the space between herself and Lucius, who helped his little girl settle. Narcissa carefully passed the blonde baby boy, with Lucius helping to support his head.

“It’s late, Lysa, but we wanted you to see him tonight, and talk to you about a few things.”

“Like what, Father?”

“You’re a big sister now. You have to set an example for your little brother.” Narcissa answered. Lysagora nodded solemnly. “Draco is just a baby, and he will need a lot of attention and care.”

“You have a big responsibility, Lysa. You’re going to help us show him what it means to be a Malfoy.”


	2. 31 October 1981

“Must you go, Lucius?”

“I’ve been summoned.”

“It’s Samhain.”

“I know,” he cupped Narcissa’s cheek in his hand and bent to kiss her softly, “I promise I’ll return as soon as I can.”

Narcissa sighed, “Lysa will be so disappointed.”

“I can’t ignore Him, love.”

“Be safe.”

Lucius donned his black robes and mask as he briskly strode to the apparition point on his property - a small clearing in the middle of the enchanted hedge maze. The autumn wind whipped around him. At the clearing, he drew his snake-headed wand and was gone. In less than an instant, he reappeared, but no longer did he stand on Malfoy grounds. Around him now was a graven stone manor which had once belonged to the Avery family; it had been gifted to their lord years ago.

Inside, Lucius met with three other loyal followers, and together they entered the great hall, bowing deeply to the handsome older man waiting for them.

“Rosier,” the man commanded, “come, tell them what you’ve learned.”

“We’ve found the Potters. Their little friend couldn’t __hold his tongue__.” Rosier’s gruff laugh sounded in the hall.

“Lucius and Rodolphus will accompany me to their home. Crouch, Rosier, you will create a distraction for that retched Order, ready your brethren for an ambush. Tonight, the last of our opposition dies.” Lord Voldemort smiled, and when he stood, his followers did the same, bowing as he walked past them. Lucius and Rodolphus followed quickly at their lord’s heels.

Crouch and Rosier were given a quarter hour to draw the Order’s attention. The other two Death Eaters were told of the Potter’s hiding place and they, along with their leader, swiftly took their leave.

Night had settled over Godric’s Hollow - peaceful and silent. Inside the whitewashed house, a red-haired woman sat in the nursery, singing lullabies to her child. Downstairs, her husband leafed through a photo album. He smiled, looking down at friends from school, his wedding, his best friend meeting the little boy who would be his godson. On the table beside him were other pictures, new ones he hadn’t added to the album yet. As James set the book down, leaving it open for later, his saw his beloved Lily coming down the stairs. “Is he asleep already?”

The red-headed woman smiled, “Yes. What are you working on?” She glanced at the table as she approached, “The album again?”

“Just in case…”

“James, you’ve gotten so morbid recently. Nothing is going harm us here.”

“We’re at war, Lils. I would do anything to keep you safe.”

“You already have.” She kissed his cheek, “No one can find us.”

__BANG!_ _

The front door crashed in, splinters flying.

“Find them!” A voice hissed in the darkness.

Lily gasped, frozen in place.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him!” James pushed the woman towards the stairs, “Go! Run! I’ll hold him off -”

Another __BANG!__  The glass French doors shattered.

Lily ran, up the stairs, as fast as her legs could carry her. A high pitched laugh followed from below.

She tore open the nursery door, reaching for her infant son -

Silence.

__Crrreeaaak__ ….

She turned, breath caught, tears spilling.

“Please, please, not Harry.”

“Stand aside you silly girl.” Voldemort commanded, brandishing his wand at her.

“NO!” She screamed, throwing a lamp at the dark wizard’s head. Why did she leave her wand in the bedroom? What happened to James; was he still alive downstairs?

Voldemort snarled, “Stand aside, now!”

“No! Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -”

“Crucio!” The man yelled; red light like lightning coursed from his wand and hit its target. The woman screamed, fell to the floor, writhed, still screaming. Screaming. Screaming! He broke the spell.

Lily trembled, tears pouring from her face. She braced herself against the crib, “P-please, not Harry, not my baby.” The man laughed; the shrill sound piercing her heart. She stood on shaking legs, holding the crib between white knuckles, “Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…”

“Avada Kedavra!” A green flash filled the room, and Lily was no more. Voldemort sneered at her lifeless corpse as he trod over it to the babe. The dark haired child, not even two, was not crying, only watching, too young to understand what had just happened, or that he was in grave danger.

Downstairs, Lucius and Rodolphus had kept James busy long enough for the Dark Lord to reach the stairs. He was an accomplished auror, but Lucius had cast the final blow, and now James Potter’s body lay prone across the living room carpet in Godric’s Hollow. Lucius ascended the stairs, anxious to see his lord succeed in destroying this prophesied threat, defeating fate itself. Rodolphus stood guard at the entry-way, watchful for enemies.

As the aristocrat reached the staircase landing, he heard the mudblood woman begging. Morgana, what a sound. Such terror was positively delightful. He walked quietly to the door, listening to her whimper and scream in turn. His steely grey-blue eyes landed on his lord, a regal figure offering to spare the unworthy witch, and oh how she refused.

He watched in mild fascination at the way his lord disposed of her and practically glided to the crib.

The Dark Lord picked up the baby. “You,” he heard the older man whisper, “will never beat me, Harry Potter.” Setting the baby back down in the crib, Voldemort lifted his wand. Lucius took a breath. “Avada Kedavra.”

Green light.

Black smoke.

Crying.

Wailing.

Something was wrong.

Lucius rushed into the room, clearing away the smoke. He searched frantically, eyes darting around the room.

His lord had vanished.

He looked at the child, mouth drawn into a thin line. Blood. A thin, bloody wound on the child’s forehead. The infant continued to wail, drawing stuttering gasps of air into its tiny lungs, sobbing, screaming.

The Dark Lord was gone.

His lord was gone.

Lucius barrelled down the stairs grabbing Rodolphus roughly by the arm and out the smashed front door. “Go, now!”

“What’s happened?” Rodolphus asked, speeding after the blond.

“He’s gone.”

“Well, yes, that was the idea, get rid of the baby.”

“Not the baby. The Dark Lord.”

Rodolphus stopped in his tracks. “Are you certain?”

“Yes….I will see you at your home tomorrow.” Lucius apparated away. Rodolphus quickly followed suit.

In Godric’s Hollow, another not-so-faithful Death Eater was stepping cautiously across the threshold. He gave Jame’s body hardly a cursory glance. He swept through the downstairs rooms, but found nothing. The stairs were undamaged. At the top was an open door. “Please, be safe, be alive.” He thought. The Dark Lord had promised to spare her. Dumbledore had promised to protect her.

He heard crying, not the sobs of a mourning mother, but the pitching of a very young child. So the baby was still alive, maybe, his heart soared with renewed hope.

And plummeted.

Severus Snape fell to his knees, fighting back his own tears, “Please, Lily, no, you can’t be gone.” He pulled her into his arms. Frantically, he checked her pulse and breathing; he shook her, slapped her face to wake her up. “No, no.” He cried. He held her, as he hadn’t in many years, rocked her, and cried. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is my fault. Lily. I’m sorry. Please, you weren’t supposed to get hurt, please. I’m sorry.”

The tell-tale __pop__  of apparition echoed outside, and Severus knew he could not be found here, no matter how much he may want to die at this moment. He gently lay Lily’s body on the floor where he’d found her. “I’m sorry.” He whispered again, this time kissing her forehead, and immediately, though reluctantly, __popp__ ing away when the voice of Sirius Black came crashing through the house.

Lucius arrived back at Malfoy Manner quickly. He apparated repeatedly across several areas, making sure to lose any one that could have been following. He had shed the Death Eater robes half way through his travel. Determined not the disturb his wife or children, Lucius set his jaw and steeled his nerves. It wasn’t quite midnight yet, and being Samhain his daughter would still be awake. The moment the library door opened, the four year old hurdled into his arms, “Father!” He swiftly picked her up, swinging her up into the air. “Where did you go!?”

“I had some business -”

“It’s Samhain! No business! Mother said so!” Narcissa looked up from her book and smirked, sitting perched perfectly on the couch, with Draco next to her, sleeping.

“Yes, well this was a rather important emergency.” His little girl pouted, “It won’t happen again; I promise. I’m here now, and … I have a surprise for you.”

Lysagora’s eyes lit up, “What is it?”

“Close your eyes.” When Lysagora did as she was told, Lucius took his wand an summoned a small black box from his study. He set it to hover before her. “Open your eyes.” His daughter’s eyes immediately latched on to the floating box; she grasped it in her tiny hands, and looked to her father, asking if she could open it now. Lucius nodded.

Inside the box, Lysagora found a small string of four pearls on a silver chain. “They look like Mother’s.”

“Yes, and every year,” Lucius said, removing the jewelry from the box, “we’ll add another pearl until you’re all grown up.” He clasped the necklace around her, smiling. Lysagora smiled back, then ran over to her mother.

“Mother, look! They’re just like yours! We match!”

“They’re lovely, Lysa,” Narcissa leaned down and whispered, “did you remember to thank your father?”

Lysagora blushed, “Thank you, Father.” She said, happily.

“You’re quite welcome, my little dragon queen.”

“Narcissa, love, are you ready? It’s nearly midnight.”

“Yes,” the lady of the manor picked up her youngest child and a basket of supplies from the floor, then came closer to Lucius, “Lysa?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s go then, into the garden.”

In the garden, the family braided a circle of wheat around them, lit black candles, and slowly chanted spells for prosperity, so Lysa could follow along and learn the words, with Father and Mother anointing their children with a mixture of lemon oil and their own blood, cut fresh from their palms.

After the ceremony, and a warm bath for each, Lucius and Narcissa put their children to bed, and retired to their own rooms.

“Something happened.”

“How could you tell?”

“I’m your wife, how could I not?”

Lucius sighed wearily, “The Dark Lord is gone.” He paused, giving his wife and lover the opportunity to absorb the information. “We’ll have to be careful. The ministry will be looking for every supporter.”

Narcissa nodded, “Who else knows?”

“Crouch, Rosier, Rodolphus, and your sister, without a doubt, but by morning I’m sure all of them will realize what’s happened.”

“How many of them would sell you out?” Narcissa twisted the ring on her finger nervously.

“Between death, the Dementor’s Kiss, and Azkaban? Perhaps a dozen.”


	3. 21 December 1981

Autumn gave way to winter; on the morning before Winter Solstice, the Malfoy family was sitting at their breakfast table. The Daily Prophet lay folded beside Lucius’ plate. He glanced at the headlines, worry knitting his brow. News of Death Eater arrests were becoming more frequent. It had started with one, caught while torturing a muggle family; he gave names in exchange for a reduced sentence. The ministry sent aurors post haste to find them. Many Death Eaters fought and died, and no one was allowed to mourn them lest they be suspected of supporting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Every day, the paper was littered with more and more photographs from holding cells and court rooms.

“Lucius, love?”

“It’s nothing, Cissa,” he shook his head to clear away darker thoughts, and smiled at his wife, “pass the cream, please.”

“Of course.” She handed the tiny pot to him, grazing his fingers as it passed from her hands to his. “It will be fine, whatever happens, we’ll be fine.” Lucius nodded.

“Lysa,” he turned his attention to his children, “what are you eating?”

“A cheese omelette.”

“In French?” Her mother asked.

“Une omelette au fromage?”

“Very good.” Narcissa smiled, then turned to the baby boy in her lap, who had just started fussing for his bottle.

A fluttering at the window caught Lysagora’s eye, “Mother, Father, look! It’s Archimedes!”

“Bella?” With a snap of Narcissa’s fingers the window flew up and Archimedes flew in, and a cold gust of snowy wind with him. The dark feathered owl perched itself regally on Narcissa’s arm rest. She took hold of the parchment roll on the owl’s leg, untied the blue ribbon, then scanned the letter.

“Has something happened? Cissa?”

Narcissa’s shoulders dropped in relief, “Nothing; Bella’s just asked us to move the Winter Solstice celebration to her home; we can go tonight. Lysa, want to see your aunt Bella?”

“Mhmm! Will Uncle Roddy and Rabastan be there too?”

“Yes, darling.”

“And Uncle Severus?”

“I don’t think so, dear.” Narcissa replied. Severus had turned down the invitation to Malfoy Manor, and it was common knowledge that Bellatrix and Rodolphus had no warm feelings for the half-blood.

“We’ll need to pack.”

“Lysa, are you finished with breakfast?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Go to your room, then, and have an elf help you, make sure you get everything you need.”

“Okay!” Lysa hopped down from her chair and made for the hallway.

“Don’t run!” Lucius called after her. With Lysa safely out of earshot, and Draco nodding off to sleep, Lucius addressed his wife, “It’s not like Bella to change plans at the last minute.”

“If it were an emergency, she would have used a cypher.”

Lucius set down his morning tea and came to stand behind his wife. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “You’re right. I’m sure everything is fine.” He planted a gentle kiss on her head.

Late that afternoon an elf took their things to the Lestrange home. Narcissa, with a squirming Draco held tightly in her arms, floo’d first. “Are you ready, Lysa?” Lucius asked his daughter. Lysa squeezed his hand and nodded. She’d used the floo network several times with her parents, especially to visit family, but that didn’t mean she liked it. In fact, it often made her dizzy and she much preferred the carriage or flying. Lucius threw a pinch of floo powder into the flames, then picked Lysa up and walked into them. “Raven’s Roost.” The flames flared again, and the father-daughter pair were off, spinning through the flames.

When they stopped, Lucius set his daughter down, and the two stepped gracefully into the living room of the Lestrange home where Narcissa, Draco, and Bellatrix Lestrange were waiting. While Lucius went to sit with his wife on the sofa, Bella rushed to pick up her niece. “Lysa, darling, you’re growing up so fast!” The dark-haired witch excitedly spun around the room, niece in arms.

“It’s good to see you so happy, Bella.” Narcissa said.

“Oh I’ve got the most wonderful news!” Bella replied, setting the little girl down.

“What might that be?” Lucius asked.

“You’ll have to wait and see. It’s a surprise! We’re just waiting for a few others.”

Lysagora sat quietly while the adults talked. She watched the door and the fireplace, searching for her favourite uncle. She bounced her leg absent-mindedly, until her father bade her stop. Eventually, she got bored and wondered off to mingle with a few distant cousins, but always she came back to the living room to wait. By eight, all the guests had finally arrived: a small familial coven, mostly grown wizards and witches. With everyone gathered, Bella made the first toast of the evening, "To the Winter Solstice, longest and darkest night of the year, may it ever keep us safe in its shadows." The guests applauded politely, drank their champagne (or pumpkin juice, for the children), and then Rodolphus stood from his seat to join his wife's side. The next toast they announced together: Bella was with child.

The party continued with several more toasts throughout the evening, and many congratulations. Lysa was going to have another cousin, wasn't that exciting?

It was much later during dessert, amidst talk of having “no luck finding him” (whatever that meant, Lysa certainly thought everyone she knew or cared about was here), that the incident began.

Pounding at the door.

Guests went silent.

Hands went for wands.

“Mother? What -”

“Hush.”

The walls shook.

“Get upstairs. Now!”

The door __CRASHED__ down, throwing dust and splinters everywhere. In the haze, Lysa was lifted into someone’s arms, though she couldn’t tell whose - cloaks and the light of spells were all she noticed. She was pushed up the stairs, while smoke filled the air, and she couldn’t stop coughing. She heard screams below, saw a pillar fall, watched the carpet near feet catch fire. “Mother! Mother! Father!” She cried, over and over, panicked.

The woman (Aunt Lucretia) who had grabbed her earlier flung her into a bedroom at the top of the stairs. Two of Lysa’s cousins and Grandfather Corvus were in the room as well. The elderly man stood, with the children behind him, wand drawn, shoulders tense, eyeing the door wearily. The sound of battle and struggle below continued.

Someone was at the door.

The handle turned.

Winded and exhausted, Narcissa Malfoy tumbled into the room, slamming the door shut. Draco was safely in her arms. “Lysa!” She grabbed her daughter and turned to Corvus and Lucretia, “Bring the children to our manor.” Narcissa jerked Lysa to her side, gripping her arm tight enough to bruise and the three __popped__ away.

At home, Narcissa commanded her family into the safe-room, a hidden space below the drawing room. “Mother?”

“It’s okay, darling, everything will be okay.” Narcissa smoothed her daughter’s hair. She addressed the two other adults in the room, “We’ll assess the damage in the morning, for now, make yourselves comfortable.” In the room, the elves had set up six small, but very plush beds, one for each of the adults and children who had escaped the raid, not including Draco, who would share his mother’s bed.

Sleep did not come easily for anyone. For several hours, the room was filled by the sound of children stifling their cries. Where were their parents? What had happened? What were they supposed to do now?

Lysa woke early the next morning (or perhaps it was still night), and upon seeing her father, burst into tears. She climbed into the bed with her parents and Draco, and stayed awake long after sunrise. Her two cousins (eight-year-old Helena, and one-year-old Even) were escorted to Rosier Estate by Druella Rosier, Evan’s mother. The entire ordeal was done in sombre silence. It wasn’t until lunch that the Malfoy’s returned above ground and began talking. Lysagora refused to be moved from her father’s side, going so far as to sit in his lap during the meal.

“Who did they take?” Narcissa tersely asked her husband, taking a bite of her quiche.

“Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Rodolphus are in custody. Evan Rosier is no longer with us.”

“Druella didn’t mention that.”

“She likely wants to tell her son at home herself.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not from the party, but the Daily Prophet is reporting at least ten were arrested last night, including Severus.”

Narcissa drew in a sharp breath. “Will they come here?”

“If they do -” a knock at the front door, “stay calm.” He rapped his cane against the floor, sending a house-elf to answer the knocking. They didn’t need to wait long. Three men in aurors’ robes came forcefully into the dining room.

“Lucius Malfoy, you are under arrest for suspicion of being a Death Eater.” The youngest’s wand was drawn and held steadily, pointed straight at Lucius’ head. “Will you come quietly or do you intend to resist?” Lucius considered them for a moment. He shoo’d Lysa from his lap, telling her to go sit with her mother, and then he stood up. His face was drawn, but he made no move for his wand. The aurors quickly bound his wrists behind him.

The moment they started to leave, Lysa screamed, “NO! YOU CAN’T TAKE MY FATHER!” She ran forward.

“Lysa!” Narcissa exclaimed, reaching for the girl.

“NO! NO! NO! YOU CAN’T!” She kicked one of the aurors, who cursed loudly.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t use such language in front of my children.” Lucius said coldly to him. “Could I have a moment with her?” He asked the other two aurors. They shared a look, shrugged, and unbound his hands. Lucius knelt on the floor, eye-level with his oldest child. “Lysa, I won’t be gone long. I promise.” The aurors scoffed. “I will come back for you, but you have to be strong while I’m away.” He put a hand on her cheeck, wiping away a tear. “Can you do that for me?”

Lysa’s lip trembled, “You will come back, right?”

“Of course I will.”

She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, and nodded, “Okay.”

Lysa managed to hold back more tears until her father had been taken from the manor. She watched from the front doors as the aurors lead him at wand point off the property. When they had disappeared from sight, Narcissa attempted to comfort her daughter, but Lysa would have none of it. She ran up to her bedroom and not a moment later the echo of broken glass and torn fabric reverberated through the halls. Narcissa put the baby in his crib, and despite his wailing, she ran to Lysa’s room.

Inside, she found the child in a frenzied rage, ripping sheets and curtains, throwing toys - she’d even managed to topple the full-length mirror; the frame laying in a puddle of glass shards.

“Lysagora Astraeus Malfoy!”

Lysa stopped, but her tears did not, “It’s not fair!”

“I know, baby, I know,” Narcissa pulled Lysa into her lap as she sat on the ruined bed. She kissed Lysa’s forehead, “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

“It’s not fair, it’s not, I want my father.” Lysa mumbled into her mother’s dress, leaving wet splotches across the fabric.

“Come on, he needs you to be strong, remember?”

Lysa sobbed again.

“Let’s go get Draco and I’ll read you both a story, all right darling?”


End file.
